


this burning, raging love

by mysteriousnight



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Denial of Feelings, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, a whole lot of repression, and one (1) hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-07-10 12:16:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19905571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mysteriousnight/pseuds/mysteriousnight
Summary: Aziraphale waited for Crowley to speak, dreading the words, predicting the words, knowing there was only one option the next three words could be. He knew what Crowley would say, could practically hear them fill the silence before they even slipped past Crowley’s lips. And though Aziraphale imagined hearing these words from Crowley’s lips, dreamed to hear them spoken softly to him, he wished these words would never come. Aziraphale was afraid, afraid to live in a world where their worst kept secret was out in the open, shown plainly to the world, unable to lie and to deny any longer.





	this burning, raging love

**Author's Note:**

> I never meant to write this, but it happened anyways.
> 
> I feel like this ends pretty suddenly, but still, I hope you like it!

The bookshop was quiet, muffled sounds of the busy London street flowing in through the walls. Aziraphale sat next to a lamp, positioned comfortably in a chair, a book resting gently in his hands. Though his bookstore was technically open, no one had walked in in over an hour, leaving Aziraphale peacefully alone to enjoy his book.

But the book was not gaining his attention. Throughout most of the day, Aziraphale’s mind had drifted away from his book, refusing to focus on the story. Instead, his thoughts drifted towards Crowley.

It was not uncommon for Aziraphale to think of Crowley. No, most of his thoughts centered around his friend, especially when said friend had not shown up in a week.

Throughout the 6000 years that they’ve known each other, spending a week without seeing each other was very common In fact, sometimes centuries passed without them meeting. But the past few years had been different. With the whole Armageddon thing happening, Aziraphale and Crowley had spent the majority of the last 11 years in the other’s company.

After the world didn’t end and their monthly meetings slowly transformed into weekly meetings, and those weekly meetings soon became into daily meetings, until almost a day didn’t go by where Aziraphale did not spend most of it with Crowley. And Aziraphale had gotten used to this new arrangement. He cherished spending time with Crowley, anticipating the next meeting almost as soon as they depart. It filled Aziraphale with joy every moment they were together.

Deep inside Aziraphale, buried far away under years of repression, was a longing to become closer with Crowley. A desperate yearning for something more, something Aziraphale refused to discern. Something akin to affection, yet the exact desire is shrouded in years of shame and denial, making it unrecognizable even if Aziraphale wanted to name it. 

Every moment they spent together after the world didn’t end intensified this feeling, slowly breaking the lock which held it away. Aziraphale could feel this emotion bubbling to the surface, unable to stop it, or simply he was past the point of trying to stop it. Knowing that this feeling could not be buried any longer, knowing it would surface no matter how hard he tried to suppress it.

But it still filled Aziraphale with fear. Every smile that was too bright, every glance that was too warm, ever casual touch lingering too long burned into Aziraphale’s mind. He was scared he would go to far, admit something he was not ready for, cross the imaginary line that they had drawn between them. He could not break this delicate thing they called a friendship. He could not risk the one thing that filled his life with light. He could not take the next step on the awful tightrope that was strung between them. 

There was an unspoken agreement to not talk about their feelings, to not expose their raw emotions to each other. They both agreed it was dangerous, but if the danger was from their respective head offices or from a chance that a feeling would not be requited, they did not specify. So Aziraphale kept his feelings to himself, locked away deep inside his chest, knowing Crowley did the same.

It was safer to just ignore and deny any affection they had between them, especially when they had Heaven and Hell reigning over them. But now, after they had chosen to be on their own side, to be with each other, the excuses for locking their feelings away diminished. It was no longer a life or death situation, and as they grew closer to each other, Aziraphale could feel his defenses slip away.

The last time Aziraphale saw Crowley they were at a park, sitting together, watching swans mill about on a pond. The day had been peaceful, and the sun was slowly setting behind them, casting the sky in hues of pinks and oranges. Aziraphale had been enraptured by the scene, finding admiration in the world around him, seeing the beauty and love in each element. 

Aziraphale didn’t know he had moved until he heard a noise of surprise come from Crowley’s mouth, a mix between a gasp and a confused “ _ what _ ”. Aziraphale tore his eyes away from the sky, down to his hand, where it held Crowley’s tightly. He released his hand in shock and slid back to the respectable distance they keep while sitting. Before Aziraphale could explain his actions, Crowley stood, mumbled something about needing to get home, and vanished, leaving Aziraphale alone with the fading sunset.

After that incident there had been no contact from Crowley. Aziraphale tried to reason with himself, trying to convince himself Crowley probably had a busy schedule and didn’t have time to see him. Despite his best attempts, Aziraphale fretted over Crowley’s absence, fearful that he had ruined their friendship with such a foolish and unconscious action. 

It terrified him, thinking Crowley was gone. That he would never see his friend again. It hurt; a soul-crushing ache that radiated from the center of his soul, burying him in a pain unlike any he felt before. It was as if his heart was breaking, shattering into pieces that stabbed at his soul. It filled his mind, crushing him under the weight of the fear that he is suddenly, utterly alone in the world. A feeling he had never felt before, and a feeling he feared he will forever feel.

So when Crowley walked into the bookshop, filling the lonely air with a presence of another being, Aziraphale jolted up. He was at the front of the store in a flash, needing confirmation that Crowley was there, that he was not alone, that his fears of abandonment were for naught.

“Crowley, there you are!” Aziraphale stayed a safe distance away, unsure of where they stood. “I want to apologize for my actions at our last meeting, they were-”

“Aziraphale.” Crowley interrupted him, cutting into his words quickly, almost begging him to stop talking.

Aziraphale stayed silent, waiting for Crowley to continue. It was no more than a moment of hesitation, but in that silence, Aziraphale ran through thousands of possibilities of what Crowley would say, all of them bad. A heavy pit formed in his stomach, his fear once again getting the best of him. The momentarily joy he felt when he saw Crowley had disappeared, replaced once again by worry.

Crowley stepped forward, slowly, until he stood directly in front of Aziraphale, leaving mere inches between them.

There was a heavy weight resting in the space between them, accumulated after years of leaving that distance, both too afraid to close it, to cross the line they had made so many years before. They didn’t touch, hands hovering beside the other but desperately keeping the distance between them, as if a simple touch would burn. 

Aziraphale waited for Crowley to speak, dreading the words, predicting the words, knowing there was only one option the next three words could be. He knew what Crowley would say, could practically hear them fill the silence before they even slipped past Crowley’s lips. And though Aziraphale imagined hearing these words from Crowley’s lips, dreamed to hear them spoken softly to him, he wished these words would never come. Aziraphale was afraid, afraid to live in a world where their worst kept secret was out in the open, shown plainly to the world, unable to lie and to deny any longer.

“I love you.”

Crowley’s voice was soft, softer than it ever was before. The words slipped out like a prayer, said aloud in a dark room despite knowing there would be no response. A confession ripped from the heart, broken into pieces yet put together again, fragile and broken.

Aziraphale stared at Crowley’s shoulder. He pinned his eyes at the spot, stopping them from moving up towards his face, which they always seemed to do. The silence hung between them, pulled tight, waiting for something to break it, wanting something to break it, to break the horrible feeling that spread throughout the room. A feeling of hate that did not resonate out of one of them, but somehow entered the room with the silence, as if some unknown entity forced the hatred there, to block what would happen next.

Crowley took a step back, but it was soundless, allowing the silence to persist and the hatred to fester. Aziraphale kept his eyes on his shoulder, watching the tension in the muscles tighten as he moved away. He couldn’t bear to look up, knowing his own eyes would reveal too much, would give away a secret he desperately hid from everyone, including himself. He could smell the hatred in the air, burning his nose, settling in the back of his throat, suffocating him.

But he knew this hatred was not Crowley’s, knew this emotion was sent by someone else, demon or angel, to stop them. To stop their fast approach into a dangerous subject that could only end in destruction.

And Aziraphale knew what hatred felt like from Crowley. He knew the acidic taste that wafted off Crowley during the great flood, or whenever life was ending and he could only watch. That hatred was never directed towards him, but towards God, towards the archangels that allowed the suffering to continue, or even the demons that expedited the process. That hatred was dark, emotional, and strong. 

The hatred that hung in the air around them was weak, diluted in the process to place it there. It was unemotional, detached from a specific being or a specific event. It was a processed emotion, used simply as a tool to trick them into believing it would come from the other. A trick that was destined to fail, for no bottled emotion could replicate the intensity of Crowley’s emotions, nor could any simple trick make Aziraphale believe Crowley could hate him.

But distance between them felt large, unable to be traversed in the heavy silence that held the room together. Yet despite the tension and the vile hatred that still hung in the air, neither moved. They simply stood, watching the other, waiting for the moment to release them. Waiting for the stiff awkwardness to fall away and for them to resume life as normal, hiding this ugly secret behind closed doors once again. But as neither moved, and the stillness began to envelope them, Aziraphale realized they were crossing an invisible threshold, when once crossed, normal could not be returned to. He knew Crowley recognized it as well, could feel him tense, imperceptible to the human eye, as the moment went on for a beat too long, closing the door on their old life, trapping them in this newly discovered place.

They stood in this new territory, this frightening and immense new world, where neither had the upper hand, for both could not grasp what this new territory is, or what was waiting for them there. 

Aziraphale closed his eyes, regaining his bearings, trying to reposition himself to a mindset he understood, to accumulate enough courage to just turn away and deny, deny, deny. To begin the cycle all over again and pretend whatever had passed over them was nothing, that he did not feel the walls they had built around this secret fall away, burning into nothingness in this silence.

But he couldn’t turn away, couldn’t muster up the courage— no, the cowardice— to reject what Crowley had said. Aziraphale couldn’t deny any longer. He couldn’t play the hopeless game they had played for 6000 years a moment longer, because he was tired. Tired of hiding, tired of suppressing, tired of trying to ignore these emotions that overwhelm him. 

Aziraphale opened his eyes, allowing them to move up towards Crowley’s face, up towards their desired target, to stare at the golden eyes that sat protected behind dark lenses. His eyes stilled as they settled on the lenses, feeling relief for once that Crowley’s eyes were guarded, so he did not have to see the pain that they must have been holding.

Aziraphale tried to open his mouth to say something, to break the silence that has crashed around them, but it wouldn’t open. And even if it did move, no words would have come, because Aziraphale’s mind was telling him one thing: to move. To span that distance that sat between them, to fall into the deep hole that had opened up in their silence, to put his faith in what was down in that hole, to reach out and touch the only being he had wanted to touch for 6000 years. To hold the being that knew him better than he knew himself, who stayed with him throughout the millennia, who would do anything for Aziraphale if he only just asked.

There is this inexplicable desire to hold someone, to allow your skin to connect with another, deeply rooted in every being. And this need, this desire, this want to simply open yourself up to another, has been burning deep inside Aziraphale for too long to be quantified by a number, to be placed within the restraints of time. Because this desire has been there from the beginning, the very beginning, before time or days or the world existed, festering inside Aziraphale, unnamed, but nevertheless there. 

It only names itself once you succumb to this desire, once you allowed yourself to be vulnerable. You must surrender yourself into the arms of another, to free yourself from the imaginary prison your mind had built around this feeling. To know this desire, this burning, raging love that has lived inside of you from the moment your consciousness could feel, you must allow yourself to be loved in return. You must give in and allow the arms of another to hold you and shelter you, after so long of you sheltering him.

Aziraphale recognized this as he moved towards Crowley, into arms that opened seamlessly at his movement. He must bear the pain of confronting this feeling to allow himself what he truly wanted. What, in truth, he always had wanted, what he had wanted before he had even met Crowley. This love, this aching, soul shattering, beautiful love was born within him the moment he was formed, but only now could he accept it. Acknowledge it for what it is: love. An all encompassing, overpowering love.

“Aziraphale?” Crowley’s voice finally broke the silence. 

_ Always the stronger one between us _ , Aziraphale thought, grateful Crowley spoke first, fearful he wouldn’t have been able to get any words out, fearful that even if he did speak, it wouldn’t be the right words.

“Angel?” Crowley asked, speaking softly, his breath hitting the top of Aziraphale’s head.

“I love you too, my dear.” Aziraphale spoke into Crowley’s chest, his words becoming muffled the moment they left his mouth, suffocating themselves in the fabric of Crowley’s shirt.

They stayed still for a moment longer, wrapped in each other’s warmth, knowing when they break away they will have to confront what happened. As long as they stayed in each other’s arms, they could continue to avoid confronting the feelings they desperately shut away for thousands of years. 

When they moved, they moved as one, both breaking away at the exact moment the other let go, perfectly in sync. A space appeared before them, a distance no longer shrouded in a weight of unspoken feelings, in a fear of closing the distance never closed before. The world seemed new, as if they had both just awoke from a long dream, now entering the world for the first time. 

Aziraphale kept his eyes on Crowley, unable to refuse himself the desire. There was still so much unspoken between them, a list so infinitely long it would take centuries to go through. But they had the time; they had all the time in the world. Centuries upon centuries stretch before them, allowing this bright new world to be discovered. A world where the fragile, unspoken secret between them has broken and the sun can finally shine on them. A world where they can love without fear or shame, a world where their love is in the open, no longer hidden away, buried deep inside their souls.

  
Aziraphale can feel love, and could always feel love coming off of Crowley, a hidden and repressed love, but love nonetheless. But now, as he stood there, watching Crowley with bright, new eyes, he could feel a love stronger than any love he felt before. A love that was so innately  _ Crowley _ : strong, intense, unwavering. And in the love was another: softer, brighter, but just as strong. A mixing of love between the two beings, a love that as it was hidden grew strong, stronger than any love had grown before. A love that binds the lovers together in an eternal bond, inseverable. Strong enough that even God herself could not break it if She tried


End file.
